


Basic

by VickyVicarious



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: (mentioned sex dreams), Abe is kind of weirdly logical about romance, Fluff, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Misunderstandings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyVicarious/pseuds/VickyVicarious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It comes as a surprise, but Abe reconciles himself quickly to the facts: he likes Mihashi. Now, to take action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Oddly enough, it’s not gradual. It’s sudden and completely unexpected and red-gold-glorious and when Abe wakes up, panting like he’s just finished a desperate dash to home with everything on the line, he stares down at the blanket tangled around his thighs, and mutters, “ _Oh._ ”

He doesn’t blush that day during practice, but instead eyes Mihashi curiously, wondering what induced his brain to come up with such a ridiculous thing. If he asked Shiga-sensei he’d probably get a lecture all about hormones and habit and other things a math teacher has no right to know about which would explain everything, but that would require narrating the dream. So instead he just goes on as usual throughout the day, and when he flops onto his bed that night in exhaustion, poking at sore muscles and worrying that Mihashi is still practicing even now, Abe decides if it doesn’t happen again tonight he’ll label it a fluke and forget it.

But it sparkles in his veins and Mihashi stutters and slides through his fingers, and Abe feels warmth flush through him until it scalds. He twines his fingers through that curly reddish-blond hair and thinks _mine_ with not a hint of shame and kisses Mihashi firmly on the mouth, and Mihashi melts back and whimpers and then there’s moans – and heat, _skin_ and it’s just – it’s –

Abe wakes suddenly once more, this time in the middle of a long sigh as his entire body goes limp with pleasure. It takes five minutes to recover, by which time he has ascertained that this is most definitely not a fluke, and perhaps _is_ worth being ashamed over. He also decides that he’s glad his mother stopped doing his laundry years ago, as he is not Tajima and would much rather not broadcast such things to the public or even his own household.

Twelve minutes later in the shower, tiny feelers of that warmth come back, imagined memories of Mihashi’s flushed face, all closed eyes and open mouth and he had licked at it and started another wet kiss which was broken as Mihashi lurched into this whimpering shudder, and – _urk_. Abe gulps, decides to think about this later, and briskly readies himself for morning practice. The cool outside air helps.

In a convenient but strange twist of events, the sight of Mihashi at practice is nothing awkward. Abe acts perfectly normal, as yesterday, and it’s only during class breaks that he pretends to be sleeping. Really he thinks about the fear that hits him so strongly sometimes, of letting Mihashi down or losing him in any way or not being needed, liked, wanted back – and for the second time, he grumbles an irritated, “…Oh.”

In other words, this has not been building up or anything because Abe has never even begun to think anything like this before, let alone dreamed it in full surround-sound and Technicolor, but clearly it’s not going to go away now that it _has_ occurred to him. He is dependent, as simple as that, and it’s only mildly relieving that Mihashi is dependent on him too.

Tonight, when he gets home, Abe skips right over wondering whether this really exists and straight to pondering what he should do about it. At some point in the evening he takes out his cell phone and starts flipping it open and closed repeatedly.

Would Mihashi agree? The answer is clearly yes, but Abe still has the fear that it won’t be a voluntary agreement so much as one made out of fear and respect. He doesn’t want that – the mere thought feels a bit like someone is using a metal clothes hanger to stir around his internal organs. But he’s never really understood Mihashi, and as such has never been quite sure what the guy thinks of him outside of the team.

He likes that phrase, though, _outside of the team_. It makes him feel a little flushed and think of eating curry on Mihashi’s floor, crosslegged and just the two of them with the TV blaring. Mihashi would be stuttering every other word and Abe would be annoyed, but with no Tajima to easily, conveniently, _irritatingly_ translate, he’d have to do it himself.

And – this part is new – perhaps he would lean over and rest his fingers on Mihashi’s, check their temperature. They would be cold and Mihashi would shut up abruptly when Abe leaned over even more to grip his neck and pull him up and forward a little. Abe would work his jaw and tongue, and his mouth would feel wet and slightly sticky when he pulled away, and he’d lick curry spice off his lips. Mihashi’s eyes would be wet too, his shoulders slumped, but his hand would be warm and Abe would forget about the curry and TV.

It takes a sharp rap on his door and a call for dinner to snap him out of it, and Abe flicks his phone shut with a _snap_. He flushes brightly, and the absent thought runs through his head that he really should take care of this issue quickly since it feels more embarrassing the longer it’s around.

Accordingly, after dinner Abe grips his phone too tightly and types in the following: We need to talk tomorrow after practice. Wait for me in the locker room.

The reply takes an hour, during which time Abe studies very productively and ignores the lightness and choking in his stomach and throat. When his phone finally buzzes, Abe reaches for it with a little too much of an edge to be calm, but controlled enough that he can still respect himself.

The answer reads: Yes. Okay.

Abe can hear the hour that was put into it, the stuttering and self-doubt, and it is echoed in his pulse as he lies flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s not that he wants to remain perfectly still so much as it is because he’s not sure his legs will support his weight.

* * *

He feels steadier the next day, though not any more pleasant; it’s an iron sort of firmness, a stiff leaden weight in his veins. Every movement feels slow, overly deliberate, and it’s all the confirmation Abe needs that resolving this is a necessity. It has clearly sunk deep into his cranium to the point where it’s affecting the rest of his nervous system as well, until he feels creaky like a rusted suit of armor. And even if no one else has commented yet, Abe knows his current state is not conducive to good baseball. More important than anything else, he needs to be able to play good baseball, and if walking into the locker rooms after practice has ended and telling Mihashi, “I like you,” is the way to do that, then so be it.

Mihashi is, predictably, surprised. Also: wobbly. “W-w-wh… I- I like Abe-kun too.”

Abe sighs. This is no good. If anything, the fizzling feel of bile sloshing up against his stomach walls only increases in intensity. Mihashi is too dense. But then again, he does do badly in all his classes. Abe shouldn’t have expected any better of this guy.

“I know that,” he says, much more patiently than normal. “But I like you _more_ than you like me.” Mihashi looks absolutely horrified at the thought, and Abe reconsiders.

“Well,” he amends, “maybe not. I guess it depends. Do you?”

He feels a little warm. There’s probably still steam in the air leftover from someone’s shower after practice. Of course, steam doesn’t explain the _doki doki_ going on behind Abe’s ribcage, but he prefers his explanation.

Mihashi looks completely lost. Abe becomes aware, after a long pause, that he has been holding his breath. He lets it out at once, feeling foolish. It begins to dawn on him that Mihashi has no idea what he’s talking about, and that his question was less than clear. He doesn’t want to have spell it all out – saying “I like you” _ought_ to be more than blunt enough. Perhaps if he gives Mihashi some time to think about it…

No. Abe would really like to, but it wouldn’t resolve anything because even though Mihashi would brood over it obsessively, the guy thinks too little of himself to believe anyone could be… infatuated doesn’t seem like the right term, but Abe can’t think of a better one – with him. So not only would Mihashi not realize what Abe’s trying to say, he would doubtless pitch terribly while trying to figure it out. Or ask Tajima for advice or something, which Abe definitely does not want.

So in the end, Abe just grits his teeth and says, “Come over to my place tomorrow. I… We need to have another studying session.”

Okay, so even Abe is capable of wimping out. He prefers to think of it as a strategic retreat as he works out a game plan for this, but whatever. Mihashi’s face sort of lights up, in a twitchy way, and Abe’s stomach squirms.

“Everyone?” Mihashi asks, cocking his head about like some sort of nervous bird –and still _twitching_. Even though he’s regressed to single words, the conversation is simple enough that Abe can understand him.

“No,” Abe says firmly – perhaps a little _too_ firmly, judging by Mihashi’s flinch back, so he gentles his voice a little, like he’s soothing a wild animal. “I… want to hang out with you. Is that okay?”

God, this is difficult. Mihashi’s got this expression like the sun has come out for the first time in a month but he’s sick and has to stay inside. Abe has no idea what that means. This is why he usually sticks to baseball, damn it.

“N… No!” Mihashi finally blurts, blushing.

Abe’s insides turn to granite, but mostly he’s just shocked that Mihashi is even capable of rejecting him at this point. It’s probably good for the guy’s mental health and all, but it makes Abe angry.

Through very gritted teeth, he manages a, “Fine, nevermind. Just, if you fail your next test, don’t blame me.” Then he turns and walks outside.

He feels hot and dry, extremely embarrassed. He’s lucky no one else decided to stay late, because Abe is pretty sure he is actually blushing now. But it’s not the shy sort of blush that would be really stupid, it’s an angry red flush that goes along perfectly with the way his body feels too stiff to exist and his fingers won’t unclench.

Well, it was always a possibility. At least he tried. Now he just has to put it behind him and focus: on strategy, training, health, baseball, Mihashi –

Abe doesn’t put his face in his hands and groan, nor does he kick anything, but the urge is definitely there.

* * *

This time the dream is of math and Mihashi not getting it, so Abe gives up after a while when he gets irritated enough to make his pitcher cry. He’s not regretful or romantic about it but the noise is vexing and the thing that makes the most sense is to yank on Mihashi’s hair and fit their mouths together like jigsaw pieces, that’s all, and the rest follows.

Abe wakes as flushed and sweating as ever, to the shrill ringing of his cell phone. Irritated, he answers it reflexively with a sharp, “What?”

There’s a long pause. Chest still heaving slightly, palms itching to take care of the unresolved issue almost as much as his brain snaps at him to stop it already, Abe is more than ready to hang up. But then he hears a tiny sniffle and stops dead.

“Uh. Mihashi?” he asks, slowly. Another sniffle, then:

“A…A-Abe-kun.”

Mihashi’s voice is quiet and hesitant and dripping with tears and insecurity. It’s not a question but sounds like one, like something he’d say wide-eyed against a wall and Abe wouldn’t bother to answer but would just push forward until Mihashi finally shut up except for quiet little gasps and wet noises half bitten-off, eyes squinched closed and Abe smirking –

A warm shiver skitters down Abe’s spine, and he very deliberately keeps both hands above the covers. He’s still not entirely awake, so that’s probably…

“Yeah. Why’re you calling?” he says, voice a little thicker than usual, then reconciles himself for a long wait.

“I- I just… Abe-kun said. Studying!” Mihashi squeaks, after the usual hesitation. Abe grits his teeth.

“Yeah. I did. You can… do it with Tajima or Izumi or whoever. It doesn’t matter _who_ , just don’t fail anything.” Abe rolls his eyes and checks his watch. It’s only eight pm. He shouldn’t have taken that nap after practice, but he was having unexpected difficulty concentrating on his homework.

“No!” Mihashi blurts, emphatic enough that Abe blinks. “I… wanted to. With A-”

“What?” Abe interrupts –a bad idea, since it generally only flusters Mihashi even more, but he always finds it hard to resist. And he sits up, gripping the phone a little tighter to his ear.

“With A-… Abe-kun!” Mihashi finishes, and then Abe can hear him swallowing nervously, about six times.

Abe really wants to know why the hell Mihashi said _no_ then, but he’s got a sinking feeling that the explanation would be incredibly stupid and annoyingly lengthy (due to stuttering, of course) and ultimately hinge on Abe himself misunderstanding something. He doesn’t like the idea that the sharp roiling in his stomach for the past several hours has been completely his fault, but that’s probably the case.

“Then, fine. Come over tomorrow, we don’t have a long practice. You have an English exam next week, right? We’ll work on that.”

“O-okay.”

“Alright.”

Abe waits. Mihashi says nothing further and eventually Abe realizes he too is waiting, for Abe to say something else. He sighs. “Goodbye.”

Mihashi says an awkward goodbye of his own, and Abe promptly hangs up, holding his thumb on the red button long enough that his phone then turns itself off.

He stares at the wall for a while. His stomach hurts – he must be hungry.

Heading downstairs for a late dinner, Abe tries to keep his face blank as usual, but it’s somehow challenging. The corners of his lips keep wanting to tilt up.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s very hot today, in a dusty, dry sort of way with lots of warm wind, and Momoko-san’s training is perhaps twice as hellish as usual. Still, the team has a good practice. They haven’t had very many training matches recently, but their foundations at least are leagues beyond how they started off a year ago. And lately Mihashi’s fastballs – his _true_ fastballs, not his signature “fastballs” – have been getting far more controllable. Not quite at his true control level, but certainly impressive enough for a high-schooler.

Abe and Mihashi work on them for a while today, and it’s a satisfying practice. Abe does start off with a fizzing feeling in his stomach and his fingers too warm in his mitt, but after the first few pitches that too becomes on par with the heat, soreness in his legs, and occasional flies: nothing more than distractions to be brushed aside. It’s comforting to sink into statistics and physical facts for a few hours, especially in the face of what awaits him once evening practice ends.

Still, comforting or not, the practice is exhausting, especially with the heat, and it’s not even really due to nervousness that Abe slips away from the others once they are released. He’s just too disgustingly overheated and needs to get a drink and dunk his head in the cool water fountain before he can face the mildewed, humid changing room showers.

He had thought he’d snuck away unnoticed, but right as Abe’s beginning to relax and cool off, Tajima speaks directly into his ear, “Are you being a bully again, Abe?”

The resulting jump of shock slams Abe’s forehead painfully into the tap, so he’s got a legitimate reason for the thunderous expression he’s sporting when he stands up. Not that he probably wouldn’t have one anyway – it seriously irritates him when he’s called a bully.

“What?” Abe snarls, rubbing at his temple. Tajima grins, completely unthreatened.

“ _You_ know: Mihashi! He called me up crying yesterday, saying he couldn’t hang out with me today like we’d planned because you were making him study.” Tajima shudders exaggeratedly, before slipping around Abe and sticking his own head under the water briefly. He pulls it out and shakes it like a dog, water spraying everywhere. “ _Study!_ How could you?”

Abe blinks. He feels oddly lightheaded and like slumping under the weight of his own idiocy at the same time. So this was why Mihashi originally said no…!

“Uh, sorry,” he says, and shuts off the tap. “I didn’t mean to… Well, it wasn’t anything important, was it?”

Tajima shakes his head, and they begin to walk back to the changing room together. “Just a movie. But why do you have to make him _study?_ You that mean?”

The look on Tajima’s face suggests that Abe is the worst kind of monster there is. Abe doesn’t really take any notice. “He’s got an English test coming up, right? He can’t fail that.”

Silence falls after that, and they make it almost to the club room doors before Tajima abruptly turns to meet Abe’s eyes, a sharp smile spread across his face. “You know,” he says, “I’m in Mihashi’s class too. Aren’t you worried about _me_ failing the English exam as well?”

It’s a perfectly logical question. Tajima’s a sports genius, but that’s as far as his prodigy goes, and he’s extremely weak in academics, though it’s more a lack of effort than true idiocy; probably about exactly at the same level as Mihashi. The English test, from what Abe gathers, isn’t a hugely crucial grade, but it’s important enough and if he claims that Mihashi really needs to study for it, then by all rights he should have confronted Tajima about it too.

Abe has already stopped walking. They are so close to their destination; he can hear laughter and shouts drifting out from the clubroom door. But Tajima’s standing in front of him, grin fading into a serious stare and waiting for an answer that just isn’t _coming_ –

“Ah – You made Hanai promise to help you, didn’t you? Last time.”

There’s a very long pause.

Then Tajima grins wider than ever, and laughs out, “That’s right!” He bursts ahead into the changing room and the sounds of pandemonium within instantly double. Abe follows, but slowly, to give the hot panic he feels time to subside.

It’s just about gone for good when he opens the door and is confronted with Mihashi half-dressed, wobbling about in search of deodorant and giggling at whatever Tajima has already managed to do (it seems Mizutani is buried under a pile of old laundry). Instantly, the warmth rushes back through Abe, his heartbeat pulsing just under his skin until he feels like he’s still running laps.

Really, this is getting ridiculous. It’s just as well he’s ending it tonight.

* * *

Luckily, Abe doesn’t run into any family members on the way up to his room. Not that he hates the idea of Mihashi meeting them or anything, but he does suspect that his mom would be somewhat embarrassing, and she probably would keep popping in with snacks and stuff every ten minutes. Obviously, Abe’s plan requires a certain amount of privacy, and he really doesn’t want to have to put it off again. He feels like doing so would only end up making a big deal out of this …crush, which he doesn’t want at all. If there was any way to get it out of the way and then never deal with it again, Abe would do so without hesitation; but it doesn’t seem like that’s possible.

Since it seems like he’s the first one home, Abe makes sure to wave Mihashi in first and then tuck his guest’s shoes into the corner. It’s not exactly a trick that will fool anyone paying attention to the entryway, but he doubts anyone will so if all works out no one will be any the wiser about his friend coming over.

Once they are inside, Abe grabs a few carefully chosen snacks, for use as studying incentives that won’t interfere with his pitcher’s metabolism, and then leads Mihashi straight up into his bedroom. He sets down a small collapsible table on the floor and they get to work, because the studying really _should_ be taken care of and it might be too awkward after what he plans.

And it isn’t like Abe has suddenly gotten stupider, but he did make a slight mistake in choosing this sort of location. Because, after all, that bed is the one in which he’s been having those dreams. That desk chair is where he sent the text message, and where he daydreamed about something actually quite like this moment, because Mihashi’s got enough questions right to earn some chips and he’s stuttering out badly-accented English, his lips dusted with crumbs which would probably transfer over to Abe’s if he were to kiss Mihashi…

He’s both relieved that Mihashi takes forever to teach, because it delays the moment of truth, and impatient to get to the part of the evening where kissing is actually a possibility. Because nothing less than a kiss is going to be understood by Mihashi, and even then, Abe expects to have to be patient and explain himself several times.

So when Abe finally manages to guide Mihashi through the relatively simple test prep he’s prepared, it’s no surprise that they’ve been working for three hours already. Likewise, Abe had correctly predicted the uncertainty now swimming around in his stomach and flickering through his fingers. It’s not that he honestly expects a negative response; but Mihashi shocked him with a ‘no’ once already this week, and Abe’s found that this issue matters a lot to him – so he’s unsure. Nervous.

Well, it’s perfectly normal to be nervous when telling someone you like them. Not always rational, but normal nonetheless, and Abe is still a pretty regular teenage boy when you get right down to it. If he weren’t, then why would this infatuation have started the way it did? The dreams are hardly romantic, after all – but then again, Abe has never really thought himself the type to bother with time-wasting romance, so this way of doing things is quite appropriate.

In the end, if he wants to avoid time-wasting and humiliation, the best thing to do would be to just leap right into this without trying to be delicate about it. So thinks Abe as he reaches across the table to close Mihashi’s English textbook, and seeing as Mihashi has just swallowed his latest mouthful of chips, he goes ahead and does the deed before any complications arise.

The kiss is nothing special. Well, it’s Abe’s first kiss, so probably he shouldn’t be thinking that it’s pretty average after all – but he’s had much better dreams than this and the edge of the table digging into his abdomen is uncomfortably distracting. More importantly though, and likely the reason the kiss is so lackluster, Mihashi is utterly frozen.

Abe sticks around for a few seconds, with his lips pressed against Mihashi’s and the table digging into his stomach. He never closed his eyes but Mihashi’s stunned expression holds no clues so he stares over the pitcher’s shoulder instead, at the opposite wall. He’s actually relieved that this kiss is so dull, because now he’ll easily be able to act unaffected throughout the coming exchange. Abe doesn’t like showing when he is invested in things, and he does it far too often with Mihashi on the diamond anyway.

Two more seconds: then Abe pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He begins to clear the table, putting empty chip bags in the trashcan and Mihashi’s books and notes into his backpack. Then he puts the small table itself away and returns to Mihashi.

“Oi,” Abe orders. “Snap out of it.”

And Mihashi, responding so well to Abe’s commands as usual, does. In an instant, he goes from unnatural stillness to unnatural motion, quaking and shaking and stuttering and blushing much more deeply than usual. “A-A-A-Ab-be-kun!”

Abe winces at the way his name has been butchered. “Yes?”

“Wh-wh-what was that?” Mihashi asks, voice cracking on the last word.

“A kiss,” Abe states bluntly, irritated that his boldness has caused his own cheeks to tinge a little pink. If only Mihashi were just a bit less dense. “I told you already, didn’t I? I like you.”

Mihashi struggles to speak, then his torso sort of weaves drunkenly through the air until it hits the ground. Abe wonders if he’s fainted. He has almost resolved to poke Mihashi awake, when a teary voice drifts up to him, muffled due to the way Mihashi’s pressing his face into the floor.

“Why w-would you-? Abe is… _incredible_ , m-much too – ”

It didn’t occur to Abe until this exact moment that perhaps the reason he likes Mihashi is really just some unconscious narcissist desire to be praised all the time. The thought’s a little disgusting, and he decides not to pursue it. Instead, he sighs tiredly and pulls Mihashi up from the floor.

It’s getting harder to act nonchalant now, because his fingers are shaking, his face heating, and Abe is certain that a second kiss would be much less boring than before. But it’s not the time yet. First he’s got to convince Mihashi that this is a good idea. Abe remains silent for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to do so.

“Look,” he eventually says, sitting down in front of Mihashi. He’d meet his pitcher’s eyes, but that’s difficult enough in a normal situation, the way Mihashi wobbles; impossible now. “You’ve been distracting me during practice. So I’m doing something about it. Do you have a problem with that?”

Mihashi whimpers. Abe clenches his fist, sets his shoulders, and tries not to take that in the worst possible way. “Well, do you?!” he demands.

Horrified, Mihashi whips his head from side to side. Almost immediately, a discomfiting softening feeling begins to assault Abe, like melted butter running through his veins. He finds himself smiling, relaxing, swaying towards Mihashi.

“ _Good_ ,” Abe says, and he means it.

Then he reaches out and tugs Mihashi closer by the collar of his shirt, bends his head down slowly, and kisses him again. Mihashi’s hands flailing around in the corner of his vision are distracting, so he closes his eyes. Abe focuses on the kiss, because though Mihashi freezes for a moment at first, he’s already started to relax a bit so this kiss is much better than the first one.

Abe’s swallows, then very carefully moves his lips. A pause, then Mihashi’s lips start to move too, and cold fingers just touch Abe’s hot ones, before jerking away. This makes Abe yank back and scowl, and he opens his eyes to snatch Mihashi’s hand out of the air.

He grips Mihashi’s fingers tightly, glares pointedly at Mihashi, and then goes ahead and permits himself to reach up and tangle his other hand into Mihashi’s hair to hold his head still. Abe is just about to kiss Mihashi again, when the pitcher blurs into motion – darting forward, lips touching Abe’s hesitantly.

Abe clenches both hands at that, briefly crushing Mihashi’s fingers and halting the pitcher’s instinctual retreat, but forces himself to relax a bit. It’s very difficult, because he can’t quite hear anything over his heartbeat, and isn’t really aware of anything but Mihashi.

“Yeah,” he mutters, eyes dropping closed of their own accord this time, and kisses Mihashi again. “You’re getting it.”

He has nowhere near the amount of patience necessary to wait for a verbal reply to that – but the way Mihashi is (awkwardly, fumblingly, yes, but nonetheless) kissing back is answer enough.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the alarm on Abe’s phone goes off. The shrill ringing jerks him out of his pleasant trance, fingers slipping out from under the collar of Mihashi’s shirt. He’s breathing a little heavily, and can’t quite sum up the energy to either lift his eyelids up from half-mast or suppress his pleased grin. In fact, the latter only grows wider when, after turning off the alarm, he turns his gaze back to Mihashi.

It’s only to be expected that Mihashi be tousled after their activities; however, the pitcher is _always_ tousled. His lack of composure isn’t really very interesting since he’s never possessed it before. In that sense, Abe is far more affected.

But Mihashi’s mouth is a little red, and despite the wetness at the corners of his eyes, his lips are actually trembling into an upward curve. More interestingly, he’s gone totally slack. The ridiculous tension that always courses throughout him is just gone, replaced by a strangely compelling relaxation. He seems loose-limbed and somehow taller, for all that he’s sitting on the floor, and once the first few minutes had gone past and the shock had perhaps died down a bit, Mihashi had proved surprisingly unrestrained.

Of course, the alarm snapped Mihashi out of whatever haze he was in, and his nervousness is rapidly returning. That’s okay; it puts them back on familiar ground for the end of the evening.

“That means it’s time for you to go home, before it gets too late,” Abe says, as though nothing has just happened. “ _Don’t_ practice any more tonight.”

Mihashi automatically nods in response to Abe’s narrowed eyes, and begins fumbling towards his bag with shaking fingers.

“G-goodnight, Abe-kun,” He says in almost a whisper, then heads for the door. Abe follows, and just before they pass through the threshold, holds out a hand to block Mihashi.

“Hey,” he mutters. “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay. And…” the next few words are really difficult to spit out, and make him blush, but Abe figures that with Mihashi’s personality, he’ll have to repeat himself a lot on this point so decides to get used to saying it: “I really do like you.”

Mihashi reels back – not in disgust, that much is clear, but in some weird physical manifestation of his overwhelmed emotions. That’s okay. Abe opens the door and gets out of his room before any reply is necessary.

He sees Mihashi out into the street in silence after that, but it’s not really awkward. Well, considering that Mihashi is involved, anyway. They wave goodbye, and then Abe heads back inside without doing anything like watching Mihashi until he turns the corner or kissing him goodbye. The idea never really even occurs to him; instead he’s already thinking about his homework. With the Mihashi distraction resolved for now, his focus has been regained.

Still, though, when he goes to sleep his dreams reflect what’s really on his mind, and Abe wakes up the next morning already deciding to make studying with Mihashi a regular thing.

His heart’s a bit overactive, and he feels oddly queasy when proposing the idea to his pitcher over lunch, but he’s not actually worried. After all, he already knows Mihashi is going to agree – blush, stutter, even twitch about until Tajima shoots what might be a suspicious glance at Abe – but agree in the end, lips curving into the smallest smile.

Abe can’t help it.

He smiles back.


End file.
